Stitched Saturday… The Return!

Cover_StitchedSaturday_promoAfter a bit of a well-needed break, Stitched Saturday is back – and this time, better than ever. We’re not only giving you more time to craft your macabre musings, but there’s a chance that they’ll be published too.

This October, Stitched Smile will be releasing a collection of the very best stories submitted to us. If your story is picked, you’ll be compensated with a free e-copy of the book and $10 – as well as immortalised in the first volume of what we hope will be an ongoing series.

For each months picture prompt, you’ll have until the last Saturday in the month to submit it. It’ll then go up on that day’s blog post and later in the year we’ll give you the chance to vote on your favourites.

So, there’s a single chilling picture prompt up for today from our very own Briana Robertson.

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Write whatever this inspires – be it a short piece of fiction or a poem. The only restriction is that it should be no more than 1,500 words in length. As per usual, post your stories as a comment against this blog post.

You have until the 27th of January to get your stories in – so two weeks from today. I can’t wait to see what you come up with.

Speaking of Briana, next Saturday (the 20th) sees the Facebook launch party of her new book Reaper. Reaper is a collection of short stories told from the female perspective, where death doesn’t discriminate. There’ll be fun, festivities and freebies and a number of authors – yours truly included – will be helping out during the event. For more details, click here, and I hope to see you there!

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One thought on “Stitched Saturday… The Return!

  1. The Shape They Take

    They’re in plain sight,
    But you can’t see them.
    It’s the shape they take,
    That causes you to miss them.

    They’re the eyes you feel watching,
    As you lie in bed at night.
    The silhouette in the closet,
    That disappears when you turn on the light.

    They are the creaking of the boards,
    that echo in your room.
    The foreboding sense of death,
    As you walk across the tombs.

    They are the fear that enters your mind,
    When you stare at all your dolls.
    The voices you hear chattering,
    Behind the hallway walls.

    Who is it I speak of?
    What is the name of such a thing?
    There are many of these creatures,
    That with them terror bring.

    Their name is whatever you assign them;
    Whatever your imagination can conjure.
    For the name is not important,
    But rather, what they’re after.

    Fear is the venom,
    That they use to paralyze your soul,
    And once you become immobile,
    They devour your conscience whole.

    Their arms will wrap around you,
    Their hands will muffle your scream.
    Your eyes will stare at darkness,
    And you’ll think it’s all a dream.

    But you won’t see it coming,
    By then it will be too late.
    You’ll never know they are there,
    Because of the shape they take.

    Liked by 1 person

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